Me: Weird question. Two, actually. How old are you, and are you off work today by any chance?
My heart thumps against my ribs, and I start grinning like an idiot. Is he going to think I’m too forward?
As the minutes pass by and I don’t get any answers, I start to spiral into embarrassment.
I’m an idiot. I should text him back and say never mind. Just then, my phone chirps with a text alert.
Vito: I’m thirty-four, and I’m free as a bird. Off until Sunday. Whatcha got?
My palm starts sweating, and my cheeks heat.
Me: I don’t want to lure you in under false pretenses, but could I hire you as an informal fire safety inspector? Payment is lunch at the restaurant of your choice as long as it’s kid-friendly.
He responds this time in seconds.
Vito: You said my two favorite words. Fire and food. But I am curious why you need my age. I’m not going to pass for under twelve if you’re going for a kid’s meal discount.
I shake my head and stifle a small giggle while a little tiny spark of excitement blooms in my chest.
Me: I must disclose the names and ages of anyone I want to take on a house showing today. I called a real estate agent. Hence the need for someone who might help me not rent another deathtrap of a house. Maybe this time, I’ll buy, but I’d love a hand inspecting things that I never knew existed. Like fan vents…
He sends back a crying laughing emoji and a thumbs-up emoji.
Vito: Let me know where and when. But do me one favor?
I send back just a simple question mark.
Vito: Maybe don’t give Juniper OJ in the car…
I full-body laugh at that and send back a long line of cracking up and mind-blown emojis. Then I drop the phone and take a picture of the front and back of my newly minted Ohio license and text it to Taylor along with our names: Eden Byrne, 26, Juniper Byrne, 14 months, and Vito Bianchi, 34.
Seeing our names together like that makes us look like a little family. I shut down the thoughts before they can even take hold.
“No boys, Junebug.” I drop down onto the playmat and pretend to cook up an over-easy plastic egg on a little blue skillet. “No boys, no dating. Just friends.”
She mouths something that sounds like, “Nahlalaha mends,” and I give her a high five.
I can’t pretend, though, that I’m not looking forward to meeting my hot new friend later today. Sigh. Maybe my closed-down heart isn’t as shut off as I’d thought.
Let’s just hope, this time, I don’t get burned.
* * *
Vito arrivesat the hotel where I’m staying a full thirty minutes earlier than I’d asked. He asked if we could go over some stuff before we look at any houses, and I agreed.
When I open the door of my hotel room, he’s looking freshly showered and hotter than I remember. He’s wearing blue jeans, bright-blue running shoes, and a tight black T-shirt. It’s a gorgeous fall day, but both Junie and I are dressed in layers in case it gets too warm or too cool. Vito’s got his arms out to hug me, and with his hair slicked back, sunglasses over his eyes, and a sexy grin on his face, it takes everything inside me to stop myself from knocking him over and wrapping my legs around his waist.
He’s just a friend, I remind myself.
I lean in for a chaste hug, pat him on the back, and then hurriedly pull away before his cologne or his soap or whatever fucking erotic scent I sniffed in that two-second hug becomes my undoing.
Damn my libido. She’s a clueless bitch. She never learns.
“Eden, hey.”
“Uh, come on in,” I say. I walk away from him and the open door and wave my hand toward the table and chairs in the little kitchenette. “Want to sit?”
“Shit,” he says, but then he covers his mouth, points at Junie, and mouths, “Sorry. I mean, oh shoot.”
